


London At Midnight

by Cant_We_Just_Dance



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex kills for the first time, All that industrial stuff, But we all know she's Maria, Child labor mention but it's very small, F/M, Factories, Jack the Ripper AU, John's gay but he doesn't wanna admit it, Lams - Freeform, London, Look it's like 1800's London, M/M, Murder, Prostitution, Say No To This reference, She doesn't say her name, Slight Internalized Homophobia, smoke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-12 02:45:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11727879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cant_We_Just_Dance/pseuds/Cant_We_Just_Dance
Summary: Alexander could almost remember a time before holding down women as John drained the life from them.But tonight, John decides to switch things up a bit.Based on @deviltipshishattome's Jack the Ripper AU on tumblr! Please heed the warnings in the tags, this is slightly graphic!





	London At Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, it's @jamisahivemind from tumblr! Make sure to comment, kudos, and hang out with me on the hellsite!

There was truly nothing like London at midnight.

It was like a grotesque sort of museum of curiosities. Each twist and turn of the city intertwining into a labyrinth melded together by careless hands of the smog-filled air that found its way into Alexander’s lungs as John led him through the dark shadowy streets. Lamplight glowed dimly, illuminating only a few steps in front of them and the tips of their facial features. The lack of proper lighting accentuated their more extreme features- Alexander’s eyes became sunken in voids in the ocean floor, and John’s starlike splatters of freckles were simply golden bloodstains. In a way, they truly were.

The city around them was near-silent, a rare feat for London during the daylight hours, where the sun shone as best it could through smoke and despair that cloaked the city. But now? During an hour that half of men and all women had begun to fear? Now, London was eerily silent, their quick footsteps echoing through allies they cut through, nearly bumping into streetlight lampposts that had already begun to fade. There were no stars that night, much like the last night, and the nights before for years on end. Instead, the full moon glowed softly, almost entirely obstructed by smoke and fog spilling in from each side of the city.

Alexander, if he thought hard enough, could almost grasp his memories of a London before fear, before pain and endless suffering and women’s screams twirling through stone walls, their bodies strewn bloody onto the ground, mangled. Never intact, not fully. Each time, it had been an extensive display of gore, their chests sliced open with uncommon precision. The type of precision that came from months, or even years of practice. Muscle tissue would be cut through, their arms covered in sharp crimson scratching marks, and more often than not, their hair would be cut off until it was the length of a man’s. But their faces were never touched, not by their killer, at least. Faces contorted into expressions of fear, horror, or even shock, if caught at the right time. The police speculated that it was due to the killer’s strange fascination with their beauty, or perhaps a statement being made. And no matter what John claimed, Alexander knew the true reason.

It was because no matter where John cut them, how many knife marks he left, how much crimson blood that smelt of copper was split… John could never find them beautiful. He would finish his work, grin horrifically at the result of his work, and tilt the woman’s face up, to inspect it. And each time, his grin would fall from his face and his brow would furrow, eyes narrowing in spite as he dropped the corpse and stood, collecting his tools, not daring to cast his glance upon Alexander once more. Alexander had not known why John refused to look at him afterwards, assuming it was simply that he could not stand to stare someone in the eyes after the heinous crime he had just committed. Alexander felt himself unable to make eye contact with John afterwards, either.

While it was true that their deaths had not been Alexander’s doing, he would be a fool to say there was nothing he could have done. John had not been the one to catch them off guard and tug their locks of hair, covering their mouth with his other hand. John had not been the one to pull the women down to the cobblestone ground beneath them and hold her there. And John had certainly never leaned down and whispered to them not to struggle or attempt to scream, that it would all be over and she simply had to close her eyes and not to feel shy to begin crying. Something about tears streaming down their face as the life drained from them made shivers go down Alexander’s spine, and he had yet to decide if that was a good thing or not.

Soon enough, they had reached their destination. It was a rather cramped alleyway in the more poverty-stricken areas of London, where men rose before the sun to make their ways to the factories and the machines. And when children were old enough, they woke their fathers before heading to work side-by-side. John pointed to a woman in a short red dress, gazing at Alexander with a look that Alexander knew all too well meant that they had found their victim for the night. Alexander nodded solemnly and approached the woman as silently as possible.

Unfortunately, he stepped in a puddle of muddy water, and the woman turned around, staring at him with an expression of shock at first, but quickly switched it to one of innocence. Alexander froze in place as she sashayed toward him, her lips painted a dark scarlet, much the same shade as her clothing.

“Why good sir,” She began, fluttering her eyelashes up at him and intertwining her fingers, wringing her hands in a nervous manner. “You done gave me quite the scare. Haven’t you heard? There’s a killer on the loose. We mustn't let our guard down at hour such like this.”

“Indeed so,” Alexander replied, raising an eyebrow at the woman before him. She seemed intelligent enough not to be out at such an hour, yet here she was, standing in the dim moonlight shining down upon them. “But if you are concerned with such matters, pray tell, why are you in this dingy alleyway?”

“Tis’ my husband. He done lost his job at the factory… Been beatin’ me, treatin’ me wrong… I’m out lookin’ for a man who could treat me right,” Whispered the woman, her arms moving to run her fingertips along Alexander’s cloaked shoulders. “For the right bit o’ coin, of course.”

“I am not interested in such matters,” Alexander quickly answered, taking a step backward and frowning when the scarlet-draped woman took another step toward him in return. “I have no interest in street whores.”

“Good, because I’m not no street whore,” She countered, taking hold of Alexander’s hand and placing it around her waist gently. “I’m a respectable woman down on her luck. If you’re interested, you could… Help me get back on my feet. Or off of them- depends how you prefer it.”

At that particular moment, two thing happened. The first being John grabbing the woman from behind, having circled around the street while they had been chatting. The second thing was Alexander noticing that John did not slit her throat as he did so, which had become typical.

“Thank you for your help, Alexander,” John murmured, pulling the woman to the ground, and tying a bit of cloth around her mouth as to block her screams. He grabbed hold of her forearms and dug his nails into the dark skin, causing her to whimper in pain as she lay there, frozen in fear. “Did you remember to bring the knife I always ask you to keep on hand in case of emergency?”

“Of course, sir,” Alexander answered, pulling out the blade from a pocket in his dark cloak. “Do you wish me to cut her hair off first? I know that it is usually done last, but whatever you wish-”

“Hair last, as always, Alexander. I expected you to know that by now,” John spat, looking up at him impatiently. “I simply wished to switch things up for tonight.”

“Switch things up?” Alexander inquired, tilting his head in confusion. “And how shall we do that, sir?”

“I think it is high time you claimed your first victim, Alexander,” John stated plainly, as if it were a simple request for him to go grocery shopping, or informing him that it was time to go out. “Go on. She won’t bite.”

“Sir....” Alexander gasped, eye widening in fear which he attempted to mask. “I-I can’t…”

“You can not, or you will not? I do not take well to disobedience,” John informed him, glaring up in disgust at Alexander’s fear. “Do it. You are wasting time.”

“I can’t!” Alexander exclaimed, feeling warm tears begin to form in his tightly shut eyes. “I CAN’T-”

“ALEXANDER, I COMMAND YOU!” John screamed, his voice filled to the brim with fury, and he grinned on as he witnessed Alexander let out a broken sob and bring the knife down onto the woman’s chest, pulling the blade out and thrusting it back in over and over and over again.

Looking back, Alexander would not have been able to point out exactly what it felt like to be the one taking a woman’s life for a change. It was not like picking out the victim, as John had allowed him to on the nights where they had their pick. But it was not like holding them down, as there was no thrashing to keep control of, or screams to make sure were fully contained.

Instead, if he had to pick one thing, he would compare it to dancing. John was not his partner, nor was the woman. Instead they were melted together into a singular entity, John’s cloak fluttering in the wind and the woman’s dress ruffles tangling together as she kicked and attempted to break free. The music was not interrupted by muffled screams and sobs, instead, the melody was formed around them, cellos and violas screeching along with her.

And as the dance came to an end, and Alexander began to sob broken over the woman’s corpse, John took the knife from his hands, pressing a kiss to his forehead, and cut off the woman’s dark, thick curls. He reached over, ignoring Alexander for a moment, as he laid his eyes upon the sight of her face, eyes still wide open. John let out a deep sigh, and stood, as he had not seen as he wished to.

Tucking the blade into his pocket, he extended a hand out to Alexander, who was still crouched over the corpse, sobbing and crying. After a few minutes Alexander quieted down and looked up at the man before him, who stood still as the shadow of a statue in darkness. He slowly reached up and took John’s hand, standing up and allowing John to wrap him in the other man’s heavy coat.

They walked home, Alexander’s head feeling all too light, and his heart all too heavy.


End file.
